Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  Diego nods, seeming convinced by my story. “Gotta respect our kind. We’re entrepreneurs, always ahead of the game. But what’s stopping more people from using this as an escape route?”

  “People try, but to access it from Bonita’s side, they have to go through the mine itself—a maze of old, unstable passages that don’t necessarily lead to the mainland tunnel. Which means most people become lost and succumb to the disease.” I let that sink in for a second. “The result is that the mines are filled with deranged and violent infected.”

  The woman crosses her arms over her chest, licking her lips in distaste. “So we’ll have to carve our way through a mob of infected in dark tunnels. Lovely. I’ll be sure to pack extra munitions.”

  “It’ll be fine. Isabel knows a safe route.” He turns to me. “Right?”

  “I know the way.” I sigh. “But I can’t say it’s safe.”

  “We’ll make it.”

  Something tells me that it wouldn’t matter if he had to face an army of millions, Diego would still go forward with the plan.

  “We’re talking about venturing into thick jungle here. No roads, no space for Jeeps. It’ll take five days, at least,” Ana Cruz says, her index finger tracing our future path through the jungle. “Rushing would be dangerous.”

  Diego points at a tiny name near the river. “What about this village? They have fishing boats; they could lend us a few so we can travel using the Mayo and save us a day of walking.”

  Ana adjusts the strap of her rifle, and then nods. “That would work. We had deals with them in the past. But they will be expecting compensation.”

  “What kind?”

  She shrugs. “The basics. Food. Clothes. Medicine. If the thief here hasn’t stolen all of it yet.”

  I return her glare with one of my own. For some reason, I have the feeling her hatred isn’t solely because I stole drugs. Someone who is part of a criminal organization can’t have the moral high ground on this. No, there’s something else.

  Does she know Diego promised me the cure? Is that her issue with me?

  Perhaps sensing the bad mood between us, Diego intervenes before I have a chance to defend myself. “That’s fine, Ana. Go back to Punta and pack anything you feel they will accept. Don’t worry about costs. Alex is the priority.”

  Ana nods. With a side-glance thrown at me, she leaves the shack. Diego folds the map and puts it in his pocket, giving me a quick smile and a pat on my shoulder.

  “Time to prove to you I’m trustworthy.”

  He goes to the front door, and then waves at someone outside to come in. A short, plump woman carrying two duffel bags and an umbrella enters. Dressed in white clothing and supporting a pair of thick glasses, she’s even wearing makeup. This woman is not a coca farmer, much less a cartel soldier.

  Her first reaction to her surroundings is a wrinkled nose, but it’s quickly replaced by a smile once she looks at me.

  Diego puts his arms around the woman’s shoulder, hugging her close. “Isabel, this is Juanita. She’s going to be your mother’s nurse.”

  I blink, taken back. Nurse?

  “Does she … ?” I swallow and turn to her. “Do you know that she’s…?”

  “Infected? Yes. Dieguito mentioned it. I worked with many bedridden patients before who suffered from mental illnesses. I have experience with violent ones too. I know what I’m doing, so don’t you worry. Can I see her now?”

  Stunned still, I give her the key and follow her into my mother’s room. Diego goes too, giving me a reassuring smile as Juanita opens her medical bag.

  “Juanita saved my life,” he explains to me. “She patched me up after the assassination attempt. She’ll take good care of your mother.”

  I don’t take my eyes off the nurse as she measures my mother’s pulse, her temperature, and then her eye movement. I stand in the corner of the room, half-afraid Juanita will be bitten, and half-worried the nurse will chastise me for not taking good care of my mother.

  When Juanita touches my mother’s shackled wrists, I flinch, but she cleans the recently opened wounds and moves on with her examination without any comment. I bite my lip.

  Drowsy, Mom doesn’t even notice as the nurse punctures her vein and prepares an IV bag, using the bedstead to keep it above her patient. After that, Juanita starts arranging her equipment and supplies. Masks, plastic gloves, and needles.

  A mixture of powerlessness and relief washes over me as I witness someone else taking care of my mother for once. I feel lost in some ways, confused as to what to do. There’s guilt, but at the same time, comfort that I’m no longer alone.

  When she first got infected, I rushed to the nearest clinic only to find chaos—rooms full of sick or dying patients, many abandoned on the floor, vomiting and crying in pain. No doctor would touch my mother no matter how many times I pleaded for help. The few nurses who gave me a second of their time only shook their heads and told me to leave my mother there before I got infected myself.

  Abandoning her in that chaotic filth was too revolting, so I carried her back to our home. Soon after, the Army knocked our door down and forced us out of our tiny apartment, dragging both of us to Bonita. Someone in the building called them.

  Ever since, I’ve been the sole person responsible for my mother’s well-being. I trusted no one else to do it. Not even Liam, who taught me how to take care of her without knowing of her existence. My mother—my responsibility.

  “She’s a little dehydrated. I imagine it was hard to give her water in her state. But the IV will help with that. It’ll also keep her sedated for longer. Like this, she won’t harm herself or others. It’s not ideal. I’m a bit worried about bedsores and infections, but we’ll make do.” Juanita takes my hands and offers a small smile. “You did a good job taking care of her, honey. You did your best. I’m sure she’s hanging in there because she knows how much you care.”

  My lips quiver. I can only nod at the nurse, afraid that thanking her out loud would have me succumbing to the tears. I can’t do that, especially not with Diego hovering around me, all smiles in anticipation for my reaction.

  “Juanita will have everything she needs to keep your mother comfortable and safe. I’m also leaving two guards to watch over the shack. They’re under orders to protect this place at all costs,” he says.

  After gathering some courage, I raise my head to face him. I know he’s doing this for the sake of his son, yet most people would’ve simply locked her in a cell and been done with it.

  Swallowing my pride and perhaps my tears too, I say, “Thank you for this. I appreciate it. I really do.”

  Diego tilts his head a little, a small, surprised smile on his lips. “Happy to help. Like I said, we need to trust each other.”

  Juanita and I give my mother a bath. Together, we dress her in white cotton pajamas, and then carry her to the clean, made bed, covering her weakened frame with new sheets.

  After Juanita leaves to give me some privacy, I sit next to the bed and hold her right hand tight, hoping that even in her drugged state, she’ll know I’m here for her. She feels cold, but I could swear she moved her fingers at the contact. For once, she seems peaceful.

  This is goodbye.

  It’s hard to think we’ll be far from each other for so long. And there’s always the fear of never seeing her again. I might not come back from Bonita.

  “When I said, I know what to expect from you, I meant this.” Diego’s voice comes from behind me.

  I glance at him, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Relaxed like this, it’s easy to imagine him in a bar somewhere, paying for drinks for high-heeled rich girls and impressing them with stories of dangerous jungle treks.

  Meanwhile in that fantasy scenario, I’m pouring drinks behind the bar, hoping to scrape enough tips at the end of the month to buy medicine for my mother.

  He has half the world at his feet, with the rest trying to kill him. And I have my mother to worry about.

  “The
lengths you went to in order to keep your mother alive, despite everything, is why I know I can trust you. Because I’m willing to do the same for my son.”

  Guilt crawls from the pit of my stomach to my throat. He doesn’t truly know what I did to keep her safe. Or whom I betrayed to do it. Liam thought I was a good person too … and he paid for it. Part of me wants to warn Diego, tell him he might not like what I’m capable of doing for her sake. The rest of me knows it’s safer if he doesn’t know.

  He shouldn’t trust me. And if he really is like me, I shouldn’t trust him either.

  I look down at my mother and whisper, “Some sacrifices are harder than others.”

  “Nothing that’s worth something in life is easy.”

  A phrase like that coming from someone as rich and as powerful as Diego is almost funny, but he says it with such conviction, such bitterness, that I believe he means it.

  Part of me wants to ask about his past. Over the past years, I read the media version of it, the one full of violence and bloodshed, but hearing from the man himself might change my mind about him.

  But changing my mind about him is dangerous.

  So, instead, I change the subject. “You said you would take care of Ana Cruz, but here she is. What happened?”

  He clicks his tongue, glancing around before speaking. “All Ana wanted was to be included in my plans, so I included her.”

  “Why? You don’t trust her.”

  “No. But I prefer having her close rather than risk leaving her behind. Also, there’s the fact that if we want to survive in the jungle, we need her. When things got too dangerous for me in Rio Alto, I needed someone who had experience living in the jungle, and she has it. She used to be part of a communist guerilla group, spent years in this damp paradise of mosquitoes and rain.”

  “And the cure?”

  “She only cared about it because I kept it a secret from her.”

  I frown, not really convinced by his story. Seems like I’ll have to keep an eye on her myself.

  Diego stands straight, moving away from the door and into the bedroom. “Ana has nothing to gain by stealing the cure from me. If she’s with my brother, then what she really wants is to kill me.”

  “Kill you? Really?”

  His grin is unbearably playful. “Oh, yes. So, you should worry about me instead. Keep me safe. Maybe warm too.”

  I’m astounded by his ability to go from serious to flirty in a second. I suspect he does that on purpose, to catch me off guard. Like a cat waiting for you to close your eyes to quietly slip under the bedsheets when it’s supposed to sleep on the floor.

  “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m as cold as it gets.”

  “Thank God for global warming then. If the South Pole can melt, so can you.”

  I roll my eyes, a half-amused, half-annoyed smile on my face. “You’ve been out in the jungle for too long, Vargas. That line was way too cheesy.”

  “Cheesy or not, it seems like it worked.” He stops smiling, and nods at my mother, still asleep in the bed. “You should say your goodbyes. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

  He gives me privacy, closing the door behind him.

  I sigh. He’s right. It’s time.

  My hand rests on mother’s gaunt cheek for a long time before I leave her in Juanita’s care. I’ll draw comfort in the fact that, for the first time in a year, when I leave her behind, she won’t be alone. She has someone else to watch over her.

  As I step out of the shack, Ana Cruz shoves a backpack against my chest. “These are your supplies. Guard them with your life. If you lose this, I won’t give you more. Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” I answer with gritted teeth.

  If she keeps with this attitude, it’ll be a long journey. I don’t work well with authoritative, stern people. Ask my mother. Hard to believe an ex-communist revolutionary has anything in common with a very politically conservative widow who earned her money by washing the clothes of wealthy families. But here we are.

  Ana Cruz snorts at my silent defiance. “If you think batting your eyelashes at Diego will keep you safe, think again. Diego likes to keeps his hands clean but he won’t hesitate to order you killed. Make a wrong move, and we’ll end you.”

  She hits my shoulder on her way out, giving me no chance for a comeback. I’m more annoyed by her suggestion that I’m flirting with Diego than scared of her threat. I know Diego isn’t exactly her fan right now.

  Outside the shack, three men prepare for the trip, messing around with their equipment and bags in complete silence. I recognize the one named Pepe, the very same one who was guarding Diego’s room. Next to his leaner and smaller companions, he’s a giant.

  His presence worries me. When you attack a guy’s testicles, you say goodbye to any shot at a friendship. The dirty look he throws in my direction makes it pretty clear he’s not happy with my presence either.

  But he’s not the only unhappy one. The general mood seems to be sour. I wonder how much they know about where we’re going and our chances of coming back. Probably enough.

  Diego straps on the backpack Ana Cruz gives him, and then addresses the group. “All right, guys. These next few days will be hard. It’s going to be hot, then wet, and then hot again. And muddy. Mud everywhere. Don’t forget the giant mosquitoes. This jungle can eat you alive if you aren’t careful. But as long as you follow Ana’s orders and keep her informed of any bites or injuries, everything will be fine. She will kiss it better.”

  The men chuckle. Diego gives Ana Cruz a smile, only to receive a glare. “Okay. No, she won’t. Ask Pepe instead.”

  They laugh. Pepe even shrugs, playing along. The tension from before is gone. The men finish packing while talking animatedly among themselves. For someone who claims he doesn’t trust anyone here, Diego certainly knows how to play the part of the caring leader.

  With one last, lingering look at what was my home for the past six months, I follow the group deeper into the jungle.

  We move at a slow pace. With no roads or trails, a path is opened by cutting vines, roots, large leaves, and the surrounding tall shrubs. Ana leads the effort, and then two men clear the few remaining plants her machete didn’t reach. Diego and I follow, with Pepe watching the rear.

  The soggy heat wraps me in a cloak of damp and sweat. The very air that fills my lungs is thick and hot. If sweat-soaked clothes weren’t enough, mosquitoes form a cloud around the group, starved for any exposed skin, but their bites are capable of even ignoring fabric. Diego sprays repellent nonstop, but it doesn’t make a difference.

  Finally, he admits defeat and takes off his shirt, tossing it over his shoulder. I blink, clearing my throat at the sight. His tanned skin glistens as sweat runs down from his neck, across his defined back, and down…

  It would be a lie to say that his state of undress doesn’t bother me. I have to remind myself to stop staring a few times. It’s embarrassing and maddening. Worse, I’m pretty sure he’s aware of my discomfort and enjoying it, glancing back with a cocky grin.

  I try to keep my head down after that.

  A few grueling, sweat-soaked hours later, Ana Cruz orders us to stop. Under rain, she opens a map and checks her GPS. Everyone else waits for her decision on which path we will take.

  Diego doesn’t waste the opportunity. He sits next to me as I rest on a thick tree root, and he offers a canteen of water. I move away a little to give myself some breathing room.

  “I want to talk about Bonita, if we could,” he says.

  Flirting and banter might be uncomfortable, but talking about Bonita is even more painful. I stiffen, holding the canteen tight. “What do you want to know?”

  He hesitates, looking at the tree line, and then at the ground. “How long were you in there?”

  A lifetime of pain and misery. “Six months. Since the start, I guess. In two weeks, it will be a year since I first set foot on that island.”

  “Can you come back from it? Forget what happened there?”

 
I look at the ground, staring at the dirt and leaves under my feet. The silent pressure of Diego’s lingering gaze remains as he waits for an answer.

  If I tell him the truth—about the panic attacks, about the regret that crawls at my back every night, of the person I became after Bonita—what would that accomplish besides making a father even more concerned for his son? He was kind to my mother. He was fair to me. Trust or not, it seems cruel to hurt him like that.

  “With time, I think so.”

  It’s a weak response, and Diego seems to know it too. He nods vaguely, a sigh escaping his lips. “I guess things won’t be easy even after I rescue him.”

  “No, but you being there for him will help.”

  I wish I knew how to better reassure him, but I was never good at comforting others. These things don’t come easily to me. All the warmth my mother had died with my father. I was raised by a cold woman of few words, but strong actions. There was no choice but to grow up like her.

  “I’m not sure it will.” Diego closes his hands into fists. “I’m not exactly father of the year. Or decade. Alex’s mother and I were seventeen when we got married. It didn’t work out. So I haven’t always been there for him, not for the last five years after the divorce.”

  He reaches for his pocket, taking out a folded piece of paper. “To think I left him there for this long … And he’s just a kid, alone in that place … He’s ten. No … Eleven. He turned eleven in there. If it wasn’t for this letter, I would’ve still thought he was dead.”

  “How did he manage to send it to you? Do you know?”

  He frowns. “I have a few contacts in the Army. I asked them to find out if he was alive or not. They couldn’t find any information, but I guess he heard someone was looking for him and was able to reach them.”

  I nod. It’s possible. Some Army soldiers sneak things in and out of Bonita … for a price. I hope he managed to pay it, or he risks losing a finger.

  “If the letter hadn’t reached me, I would have never believed he was still alive. When my brother escaped from Rio Alto, he said he couldn’t get to Alex in time, that he was dead. And I believed him. I believed he couldn’t abandon his nephew to die. I was wrong. I was wrong about Rico and about a lot of things. But the truth is that I gave up on Alex a long time ago. Maybe even before this disease came… So this is my fault.”